Indelible
by northernexposure
Summary: In the beginning... Harry/Ruth one shot.


**Indelible**

**A/N:** This morning, I walked to work through a chilly Westminster. By the time I got to the office, this was in my head.

* * *

The operation had been a long and strenuous one, but the result was, as the saying goes, worth the candle. Even so, it was the early hours when the grid finally began to empty, his agents slipping away to their beds, one by one. Outside his office, the last light dimmed and blinked out, until Harry was left alone to sign a final few papers before heading home himself, not too many minutes later.

He took the lift to the ground floor, having called ahead to request a car. He was too tired to drive, and his could stay where it was in MI-5's car park until tomorrow.

The lift doors slid open, and he saw Ruth Evershed ahead of him. The security guard was holding the door open for her as she left; Harry heard the susurration of her quiet 'goodbye'. He wondered how she was getting home – she couldn't have a car with her, or she'd have gone straight down to the basement to get it. He glanced at his watch. A night bus? He tried to recall from her file where she lived. Somewhere West, he thought. Hammersmith?

"Ruth?" He asked, his voice an insignificant echo against the granite of the hallway.

The door closed behind her, only to reopen a few moments later as he followed her. Harry looked around and saw Ruth, crossing the road, heading for the river.

"Ruth," he called, again, and this time she paused, mid-street, mouth open in mild surprise.

"Harry?"

"Where are you going?"

She looked worried, suddenly - unsure of herself. "Home," she said. "I'm sorry – is there a problem? Do you need me? I thought-"

Harry shook his head. "No, I just…" he shrugged, slightly. "Can I give you a lift?"

Ruth made it to the other side of the road and then turned. They stood, looking at each other across the Tarmac. "No – no, thank you, I'll be fine. I can get the bus."

"It's no trouble."

"No, really, I – I'd rather…" she stopped, and then tried again. "I was going to walk a little," she explained. "Get some air…"

Harry glanced toward the Houses of Parliament and then back along Horseferry Road. The streets were almost empty, but still he frowned. He didn't like the idea of her out this late, alone. Unlike Zoe, he couldn't imagine Ruth Evershed proving a match for an attacker. And she was new to this City, still.

"May I join you?"

Ruth nodded, surprised again. She stepped back as he crossed the road to join her. They ambled across the quiet hulk of Lambeth Bridge, wrapped in a silence that matched the hour. They headed for the concrete steps that led down to the river walk.

Around them, the air was chill, September snapping eagerly at the heels of August. Overhead, the moon was a hard heel of cheese, discarded against the perforated midnight blue tablecloth of the sky. Harry glanced at Ruth, closer now, though the look on her face was still distant. She'd been with them a few months already, but he still found her a dichotomy – her nervy, frenetic movements in the briefing room; her serene, exclusionary concentration when at her screen.

A bubble of distant laughter floated toward them as they descended the steps. Fairy lights lit the roof of one of the houseboats permanently moored at Chelsea Reach, distant figures mingling against the soft light they cast.

"I always liked the idea of living on one of those," he said, the statement sounding relevant in his head but less so in the cold night air.

Ruth glanced at him. "On a house boat?"

"Yes. Not here. There are some on the path between Camden and Regent's Canal…"

She nodded. "I've seen them." Quiet amusement crinkled her pale eyes. "Somehow I never imagined that a houseboat would be your sort of daydream."

He smiled too. "Not a daydream, really. Just a passing fancy. It's the contrast, I suppose, to city living in general. The freedom implied in living on something that can move."

Harry watched as she considered the houseboats, the moonlight gilding her cheeks and nose. "I don't think they move," she said, at last.

"No," he admitted. He smiled. "Anyway, you're right. Me on a houseboat is a ridiculous idea."

"Not ridiculous," she protested, "just…"

"Unlikely?"

"Unexpected."

They moved to lean against the parapet, looking out over the dark water. The atmosphere between them had somehow become companionable in the wake of his absurd confession. Harry watched as Ruth shut her eyes and breathed in the cold air. He wondered, suddenly, where she imagined herself fitting. He found himself hoping that it wasn't somewhere too far distant from this spot.

She opened her eyes, glancing up at him with another smile. "You don't have to stay here with me, you know," she said, softly. "I'm tougher than I look."

"I'm sure you are," he said, though actually, he wasn't sure at all. "I'm sorry, would you rather be alone?"

She shook her head. "I just needed some air. After a long day on the grid…"

He nodded. "I'm the same. Though I usually go up to the roof. Quieter up there."

Ruth frowned at him. "The roof?"

Harry turned and looked up at the bulk of MI-5, still looming behind them. "There's a balcony, right at the top. It's only small, but it's got an amazing view. You should go up there some time. No one else does."

"Apart from you," she pointed out.

He smiled at her. "Well. I'm willing to share…" The silent _with you_ that floated into his head took Harry by surprise.

Ruth looked back at the stone balustrade, spreading her small hands wide against the cold stone. She was silent for a moment, and then said, "I like walking at night, when everyone else is asleep. It's as if the world is frozen. As if it's waiting, while we sleep. And I wonder… Sometimes I wonder if we all leave a mark."

Harry didn't know what she meant, but sensed she wasn't finished. He leaned beside her on the stone.

"If the places we pass through take us on, somehow," she went on, tracing a finger along one of the cracks marring the parapet's surface. "An element of us, etched into the stones we pass. I like to think so. That we… leave something… something indelible behind us, however small. Sorry," she said, a moment later, embarrassment crossing her face. "Silly."

"No," he said. "I like that idea. Maybe we do. Maybe it just can't be seen. Maybe whatever we leave is just a feeling… a sensation. Some places have an atmosphere, after all."

She nodded, and smiled, and then said, "We should really both go home."

"Yes," he agreed, though he had a sudden urge to say the opposite, to tell her they should carry on walking, right through the night and on into whatever was at the other end of it. "I won't let you go by bus, Ruth. At least let me get you a taxi."

She looked doubtful as they retraced their steps to road level, but before she could voice a protest, he'd whistled at a black cab that sped past on its way to Pimlico. It darted to the curb and sat, purring quietly as they approached.

"Lincoln Road," Ruth said, through the open window. "It's in Hammersmith..."

The driver nodded, flicking his light off. Harry opened the back door.

"Goodnight, Harry," she said, as she got in.

"Goodnight, Ruth."

He shut her into darkness and watched as the cab slid into the night. Beneath his feet, the paving stone was cracked. Harry traced the toe of his shoe along it, wondering how long it had been there, wondering how long it would stay.

[END]


End file.
